Infected
by atl-criminal33
Summary: The minute the bag was dropped she knew.


SHIELD was following a terrorist organization that was rumored to have the same chemicals that would make a replicate of the Bubonic Plague or worse. They had used bone samples contaminated with the disease from thousands of years ago found in an abandoned cite in Europe to obtain the disease.

They were known as NANO tech – an organization that used to travel around the world helping the sick, turned bad when their plan became to help make more sick. They were like the rotten eggs of Doctors without Borders.

SHIELD was able to track them down to an isolated area somewhere in Africa where they were planning on spreading the disease. Ironic ending the world where it all started so long ago, but most psychopaths have a sick sense of humor.

Natasha and Steve were sent to shut them down, before things got out of hand, but things were already too far gone once they arrived. SHIELDS information was way off. NANO tech was much larger than anticipated, and deadlier too. It wasn't just a plan to end the world, it was a way to start over, to start right, classifying this as a suicide mission – the worst kind. No one can win in a war where people aren't afraid to die.

They had closed off the area, and all planes were ordered to land to prevent air travel of the disease, but it still wasn't enough. SHIELD had snuck in the main building, shutting down all communication, while Steve and Natasha worked on finding where the virus was being harbored.

All the workers were dressed in hazmat suits, making SHIELD even more worried. Steve was caught up in the exit plan, while Natasha moved forwards, determined to finish this mission. She walked up a stairwell, took a few turns, and that's when she found it – the lab.

It was a glass room with tons of shelves, computers and books scattered around. It looked as if it had been recently ransacked or fled. Natasha picked the lock to the door, and entered the room with her gun raised. She could hear Steve asking where she was, but she couldn't answer because she knew that she wasn't alone.

And she was right.

He was dressed in a lab coat, and had sweat dripping down his face. He had flasks of chemicals scattered all around, and a crazed look in his eyes that gave Natasha the chills. There was a bag in his hand labeled Toxic.

"Doctor Boland, put your hands up," she said.

"You shouldn't have come," he said, not looking up.

"There's no way out, SHIELD has the building shut down, all planes have been landed, and backup is on the way," she stated calmly, but something wasn't right.

"It was a brilliant plan, wasn't it?" he asked, and it was something about the way he was talking in past tense that made her grip on the gun tighten.

"It's over now," Natasha said back.

"This was my life's work," he said, and she knew that if she just stalled him for a little bit longer Steve would soon be here.

"I know it was," she said.

"Do you know how contagious this disease is?" he asked. "I do because I made it."

"Doctor-,"

"And it's all I have left," he said finally turning to look at her.

"Doctor Boland, please-,"

"What the caterpillar calls the end of the world, the master calls a butterfly," he said, and Natasha pulled the trigger hitting him right in the chest.

He dropped to the floor as did the bag labeled toxic. Natasha ran to lockdown the lab. She hit the button, just as she saw Steve running down the hall with his shield at his side, but all she could hear was the doctors menacing laugh.

She ran over to him, and grabbed his dying form by his collar. "Tell me the cure!" she just about shouted.

"There is none," he smiled, with a drip of blood rolling down the edge of his chin.

"How long do I have?" she asked already feeling the effects of the disease taking on.

"Not long enough," he said, bleeding out. "Goodbye world," he said to the sky.

"Don't die," she said, putting pressure on the bullet wound, but it was too late.

"Nat, unlock the door!" Steve ordered.

"I can't," she said, holding back a cough. "I won't."

"Let me in, dammit," he shouted, banging his shield up against the glass wall, but it was unbreakable.

"I'm sorry," she said, sliding down the glass wall. Steve did the same, but on the other side.

"Nat-," he said, looking more like a boy, then a man.

"Tell SHIELD I've been compromised," she said followed by a cough that shook her small frame.

She was dying – slowly but surely. This was the end for her, but the world would live another day. Maybe her ledger would finally be cleared.

Natasha always thought that she would be shot, she never thought that it would be the plague that killed her. It wasn't till now that she realized – "I don't wanna die," she said, feeling weak for admitting it.

"Just let me in. Stark and Banner have been working on an antidote," Steve said.

"If I let you in," she said, pausing to inhale. "The disease will get out, more people will die. We can't be sure…"

"You don't always have to save the day," he said with a sad smile.

"Who else would do it?" she responded, trying to laugh but having a coughing fit.

"Thank you," Steve said.

"Steve, you don't have to—,"

"Thank you for being brave, for helping me adjust to the world, for setting me up on those stupid dates, for being a friend when I needed one, and for being so much more."

"Please don't speak at my funeral," she said. "You're way too depressing," and that's when she remembered the chemicals that were scattered around the doctors desk when she first arrived.

Prophylaxis, tetracycline, streptomycin  
Natasha shakily got off the ground. "Nat, what are you doing?" he asked, standing up as well, but she didn't answer, she had to save her strength.

She made her way over to the desk, and saw the bottles of chemicals. Some were blue others were red, or green. If the doctor created the plague than he must have created the vaccine unconsciously. "Steve get Tony on the phone!"

Steve did, and seconds later, "What's up old man-,"

"Tony, Natasha's been infected, but she thinks that the doctor may have created some form of the vaccine," Steve said quickly.

"I'm looking at a bunch of chemicals right now, but don't know which ones for what," Natasha said, but anyone could tell she was sick.

"If Boland used the Yersinia pestis, then you might be able to get away with tetracycline, streptomycin to at least slow down the symptoms, but we can't be certain that he didn't use any other etiological agents," said the worried voice of Bruce.

"I see tetracycline, but no streptomycin," Natasha said, but her vision was becoming blurred.

"Try prophylaxis," Tony stated.

Natasha put both of those chemicals in a syringe despite the shakiness of her hands. She looked at Steve from across the glass barrier. He nodded his head and she did the same just before plunging the needle into her upper thy.

She thought she saw people with hazmat suits on run through the hall way, and heard Steve shout her name, but then everything went black as she collapsed to the floor.

Natasha was rushed to some SHIELD hospital in South Africa as soon as they got her out of there. Fury tried to tell Steve to go home, but he wasn't leaving her.

They drew his blood to make sure that he did contract the disease, though due to the super soldier serum is very unlikely. He changed into some jeans, a white t-shirt and a leather jacket, and now here he was.

She looked small with the oxygen mask over her face, and she didn't look like herself. All these tubes were pumping fluid into her body, and sucking the disease out. They almost lost her from some infection on the way to the hospital, but now she was finally stable.

Sitting down in the chair next to her, Steve put his head down and took a breath. He didn't know what he would do if he lost her. He took her hand in his, careful to avoid the IV. With his other hand he moved a stand of her red hair out of her face, and kissed her forehead ever so gently.

He knew it would be awhile until she woke up. Maybe once they got back home he would ask to draw her, or to spar with him, or to go out on a date. Maybe he would tell her that he wanted them to be more than friends, that every time he thought about life without her he felt his heart being ripped out of his chest. Or maybe he'd just keep waiting until it was too late, but that was a question for another time.

So he just sat back in his chair, with his hand still in hers, and waited for her to open her eyes.


End file.
